


you're just the funeral i've been waiting for.

by jugheadsucks



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, all the losers club will appear, and there will probably be violence in future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadsucks/pseuds/jugheadsucks
Summary: Richie is an international assassin based in New York who gets paid to fly across the world and kill people.Eddie is a barista who develops a crush for the always exhausted looking yet energetic man who becomes a semi-regular in his coffee shop.One day, he leaves his number on the coffee cup he hands over to Richie and thinks to himselfwhat could go wrong?It turns out the answer to that question isjust about everything.





	you're just the funeral i've been waiting for.

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by killing eve!! but the actual story of this is wildly different to killing eve! there's a lot more to come, this is just a prologue kind of thing to see if people are interested, so let me know if u enjoy it!!!
> 
> also, disclaimer: i've never been to new york (or a lot of the other places this story will take place in) and i'm not a barista or an assassin, so some stuff in here might be wildly inaccurate. i have done a fair amount of research though!
> 
> the title is from **cyanide** by metallica!
> 
> enjoy ❤️

**_BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, USA._ **

**_RICHIE'S APARTMENT._ **

 

"I've got a job for you.”

Mike sounds as serious as usual over the phone and Richie inhales deeply on his cigarette, smirking as he exhales.

“Isn't that your job? To give me jobs?” he asks, trying to get a rise out of the man who, so far, had been unflappable.

To remain that stoic after 10 months of dealing with Richie is one hell of an achievement, and he feels a begrudging respect for him because of it.

“My job is much more than that, but that is a part of it. Check your mailbox for the details.”

Mike hangs up and Richie pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it, shaking his head.

“Absolutely no manners, that one.”

He chucks his cigarette out his window before walking over to his door and stepping out into the hallway. The door opposite his starts to open and he groans internally as he so badly wishes he could sneak back inside.

“Good morning, Jeremy!” Mrs. Krisparkle greets him, peeking out of her  door “how are you today?”

“I am delightful, Peggy, how are you?” he asks, plastering a downright jovial smile onto his face.

She smiles back and waves a hand about vaguely.

“Oh, you know. Old.”

“You don't look a day over thirty!” Richie responds before starting to gallop down the stairs two at time. She says something in response but he doesn't listen, rolling his eyes and muttering  _ I wish that old bag was my next job _ as he turns onto the next flight of stairs.

The building he lives in is old, bricks on the outside crumbling at the same rate the wallpaper on the inside is peeling, and the elevator has been broken for months. He can't complain, though, because They pay for everything, and as long as they continue to pay him as much as they do, he would live anywhere.

He reaches his mailbox, humming to himself as he opens it and pulls out a small red envelope with the word  _ NERO _ written on the front and putting it into his inside jacket pocket.

He never knows why he's told to kill who he is, They never give him a reason, and he just does as he's told. It doesn't bother him at all because he doesn't really see the point in knowing who they are, it would just make things more complicated. He fucking  _ kills people _ for a living, and keeping a distance from those you kill is, as a universal rule, always the best option.

When he gets back up to his apartment, he opens the envelope and pulls out a ridiculous looking birthday card with two cartoon pigs on the front eating a birthday cake. He snorts and shakes his head before opening it and reading the contents.

 

_ Dear Nero, _

_ It was great to see you in Munich last month! Hope you'll visit our wonderful city again soon! _

_ Happy Birthday! _

_ From, Günter Wolf _

 

“Munich, huh? Not bad,” he says, walking over and pulling a beer out of his fridge, “and I think me and Günter are gonna get along just fine.”

 

\---

 

**_QUEENS, NEW YORK, USA._ **

**_PERKATORY COFFEE SHOP._ **

 

The entire place is packed. It's not a massive space, but that just means that when it's full, it gets suffocating and Eddie can feel a thin layer of sweat starting to form on his back as he refills the machine with coffee beans.

He wishes he had about eight extra limbs and ten extra employees, and realises suddenly that he's dealing with these customers alone.

“Ben! Ben!”

“What?” the man in question answers, peeking his head around from the stockroom.

“Could you please give me a hand out here, at least until the rush dies down.”

Ben nods and walks over to the till, smiling at the young woman waiting to order, who looks back at him like she is less than impressed. Eddie sighs as he places the bag of coffee beans back in the cupboard.

“Open a coffee shop, Eddie! It's your dream to run your own business and you'll have a never ending supply of coffee, it'll be great fun,” he mutters to himself, sarcasm evident in his soft voice.

He doesn't really mean it, he loves where he works, he does… but when it's packed to the rafters and he can't sit down for even five seconds, he does begin to question his life choices.

His hands begin to work mindlessly over the machine, preparing orders from memory and with such ease that he thinks briefly that maybe he did choose the right occupation. He only looks up as Bill slips in through the backdoor as quietly as he can, shutting it silently behind him. He glares at him but Bill looks suitably guilty for taking another cigarette break so Eddie just rolls his eyes and nods at the machine next to him.

They slip back into the rhythm they're used to, the three of them, Ben taking orders and calling them over his shoulder to Bill and Eddie at the machines. It feels almost like a dance, like a performance, and it's one that at this point, Eddie knows off by heart. It's nice and pleasant and the warmth in his chest stings and itches slightly considering how hot it is behind the counter right now. He doesn't want it to go away though, it's the only thing grounding him in the chaos of the room around him.

Eventually, the queue disappears and the tables start to empty, the noise in the room simmering down into a quiet hum, and Eddie can begin to breathe again.

He leans against the counter and sighs, wiping his forehead with the cloth tucked into his apron. He finally lets himself start thinking words like  _ break _ and  _ sit down  _ and suddenly his limbs feel heavy.

“You should take a break, you haven’t had one since you started this morning,” Ben says, coming over to stand next to Eddie.

“Yeah, the l-last thing we'd want is our boss being t-tired,” Bill chimes in.

Eddie flips him off so that no one in the café can see it, but both he and Bill are smiling at each other.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and say he's taking a break, the door opens, forcing a gust of cold wind into the shop and bringing a very interesting looking and familiar customer with it.

“Yeah, I'll take my break… soon.”


End file.
